this abyss of bruised purplesthis abyss of bruised purples2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
that feeling when you look at the person next to you; and wonder what monster they've become. what they used be and what they are now; the stupid screams breaking through the window glass and the languid summer heat crawling over your neck, the shadows in the rooms that have never been lived in, aren't as dark as the shadows in the people who have never been loved. crying to movies of the '20s and listening to Bette Midler.
that feeling of sullen coldness, fearful branches hovering over, swallowing up any bright thoughts in your head. that feeling when you're trying to focus on some vague thought so dreamland will engulf you in, but the pi
lethalshe dresses in death colors andlethal9 months ago in Personal More Like This
the look in her eyes is every funeral in the universe
because through her cosmo laughs I can hear the stars burning
(stars burning are like flowers blooming, both painstakingly beautiful and dying simultaneously)
Oceanic is the mind, the empty paper represents
the sky was lieke plastic wrap sealed over bleeding wounds
of the lost soldiers [not lost sorrow]
Your stare is like the cherry pavement approaching closer and closer
Until delirium screams
conjectures.if i had a cloud for a pet i would name it anastasia because it will travel all over the world and absorb the sadness out of everybody. i want the boy next door to smile more often and read more books instead of hesitating whether or not to call that girl. i want that girl to give people a chance because people can be beautiful and i want the stars to stay longer before burning out or being blown out of circuit by the storms from the parents who don't care. i want that cloud to sail quietly into the night and stop at that boy's window to feel his serenity gracing the four walls.conjectures.4 months ago in Personal More Like This
but of all the weathers simmering inside, i want.
want- it's a petty thing, a thing of madness.
turn insanity upside down and i can't scream anymore, can't let alone this fiery chant glowing behind blurry windowpanes,
a woman, bleeding to death in a sealed shower. a sensation of regret, sails through a man's head before the rope denies speech.
because he once spoke of:
a cold sky rheumy at the edges, tumbling o
:in between words and worlds:i.:in between words and worlds:2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
With amorphous regret in my mind and genesis in my notebook I turn the page and there is the hateful etching of your name a hundred times over and over until its engraved on my wrists and under my eyelids, those crimson marks dispersing into atoms when I close my eyes, there is the slight tremble of the summer leaves and the south birds migration, there are the salmons leaping in ocean's tears and mountain's streams and there are cars whizzing by the empty voids between our words and worlds.
To you, words exist in worlds
And to me worlds live in the existence of words
But you'll only frown and turn away, and accuse me of being philos
darknessit has been awhiledarkness1 year ago in Personal More Like This
but this darkness is filled up to the brim,
and it will not take in
the rest of my lonely dirges.
It is half past two
in the early dawn
and the birds have yet to rise,
The heavy midst consumes the outside world,
Like nature smoking its last cigarette
before burning to dust in the countless blackholes
i have found in my backyard.
the uprooted trees are skeletons
of a bloodied embryo,
stretching to a cold, cold sky.
he lays on his back, silvertongued,
exhalation becomes earthquake-shattering
in this unnamed silence.
long have I given up
searching for a way to dissolve this suffocating darkness
the shrewd darkness that will not let itself captured
into a glass jar.
the same darkness that kidnapped me
and knocked me off my feet.
the same darkness that cowers beneath the darkest shades of shadow when i switch on the brightlights,
no hunter will shoot its arrow through you
when loneliness dissolves too much
to your extremities
and the moon hangs too low
from its starry thr
distortion obsessionLet me dissect your thoughts and analyze the emptiness ensconced between your spine,distortion obsession9 months ago in Personal More Like This
let me break it apart like the spine of a brand new dictionary
let me swallow your sorrow.
I will stretch out my arms and my embrace will be wider than the Nile river,
burning more ardently than the Gobi desert.
let it spread, let the sandstorms in your veins spread, I want to taste your sorrow melting on my lips.
I want to hold your sorrow with both hands and reduce them ash, I want to take hold of your loneliness and fold them into paper cranes to send away into the whirlwind.
Let me be your protection, the ravaging thought breaking like a fever in your mind,
let my existence be your late night shelter, let it thrive and grow like a robust field of flowers, let your impending darkness break into a rain,
a cathartic rain that will bring you to my doorsteps and make you knock with an intensity that will shatter our invisible walls,
drenched in words.
Let the dark enigma dissolve into stars,
let it fuel
like the desert misses the raini.like the desert misses the rain1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"is the sun ever lonely?"
the walls breathe, torrid with heat. and the windowpanes, they spin, sheathed opaque with rising smoke. she slid her fingers up his arched piano spine, exhaling soft dirges into his left ear.
"you know, the sun is so alone up there, giving its unrequited light. and the stars, they don't give a damn. they have no idea, not until the sun decides one day it's tired. the stars, then, will miss the sun, like the desert misses the rain."
she sighed. her oceanic mind, the abysmal depth of thought, played a game of hide&seek in black and white.
and he saw through her maxims, the primordial thirst for express
summer nostalgicThose were the times when none of it mattered. We were lost depending on our sensations, life dilemmas over peach-scented candle aromas. Those were the times when star-dressed plastics gave us a freedom like a soaring feathercage, it was the sensation of bathing in cool water and wrapping ourselves with bedsheets smelling of summer. Those days, we used our shining steel blades to cut through the ripe livelihood of a full-grown watermelon, and perched by the ivy verandas scooping out crimson mouthfuls with icecream spoons. And just like that, summer approached us, timidly at first, then all at once---the winter blankets, the heavy ebony, would have to retreat to its hibernation- to be stored away and forgotten in dusty cabinet corners, burning with the loneliness of the wait. Those were the times when I could still hold your hand, and not feel the world staring and piercing wounds through our love. Those were the times when it did not matter if you were a boy or a girl, because either wsummer nostalgic1 year ago in Personal More Like This
mind cranestumbling sky,mind cranes1 year ago in Personal More Like This
teal glass lips murmuring over split ends,
a river splitting
the blinding white light of a splitting atom.
conversation; clinking glasses held low,
low undertones of a wild thought,
washed up ashore mother's riverbanks.
where does this rivet lead us?
where do these electric skyknives lead,
humming over a deceased campfire.
you are cities within cities,
late nights walking
over shadows within shadows.
globe with an empty skydear thunderstorm clouds:globe with an empty sky3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you're just the cold air that sifts through my fingertips
and please, give me my love back
give him back to me
last night I felt the beach; the s a n d---;
drifting, falling t h r o u g h my fingers
but they weren't like the clouds, or you
because they did not disappear;
they don't hide
like you always do.
[maybe i'll find you, if i dig deep enough
or maybe I'll just fall into my own hole and suffocate]
our sandcastles and hopes are washing away.
and my dear seagulls:
open your eyes and forget all the whispering seashells and the ocean's invisible dulcet notes
hear these querulous, brusque cars;